"Mum, do you think I made the team because I'm good, or because I'm black?"
This stumping and awkward question is being raised in households across the country as the quota system manipulates the selection of sports teams and tournaments. From the tender age of seven to international levels of play, the selection of players no longer depends on raw talent and fiery passion, but your ethnical group.
The quota policy dictates that in every competitive sports team a certain pecentageof players and coaching staff must be of colour. This policy has caused much uproar and dispute, as it has been perceived by many as "reverse" or "controlled" racism, favouring particular ethnical groups.
Whilst some raised their hands in frustration because of the injustice, others recoiled in embarrassment. Being chosen based on your skin colour builds a false sense of pride and a deep sense of shame for many "quota" players. These players may be left feeling inadequate or incompetent in their teams. The low self-esteem that develops because of this could be further battered by exclusion or bullying based on the fact that some quota players are perhaps under-qualified.
Their parents feel the blow as they too experience shame in the favouritism and can become socially victimised or excluded. These parents also have to deal with the questions and emotions intertwined with the issue of racism, as well as bullied or distraught children with shattered self-esteems. The parents of the children denied positions could feel fuelled frustration and racism as the effects of apartheid continue to linger in society. These parents may be marginalised and watch helplessly as their children suffer the consequences of a previous generation's mistakes.
The selected team will endure having to carry weaker players and the talent of ethnical players will be called into question, leaving them wondering whether they were chosen based on skill or to filfil a government policy. This sort of doubt disadvantages the team's spirit, performance and unity, but without the meeting quota they would be disqualified from participation in some leagues. Either way, the team will suffer and be unable to reach their full potential.
The players who are denied a position in the team regardless of their talent are left with low self-esteems and a sour taste for the ethnical community. This type of situation spawns hatred, grudges and ultimately racism in the youth, the polar opposite of the government's intention when introducing a law that was intended to give equal opportunities to previously disadvantaged players.
But in attempting to make right the injustices of the past, are they not instead stripping other people of opportunities they truly deserve? We are a democratic country and favour should not be shown based on our past, but on our future.
In a rainbow nation we should see in colour, not in black and white.
Bibliography:
http://definitions.uslegal.com/q/quota-system/
http://www.btimes.co.za/98/1213/colums/columns2.htm
http://www.mg.co.za/article/2005-01-23-sports-quota-law-a-last-resort
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
"Am I to blame?" by Anonymous
Little hands
And little feet
No one stopped to consider
The future they were to meet.
Feet kept moving
And hands stretched out
Out there someone cared
But this has left only doubt.
Many days I wondered
Many weeks I dreamed
Many months I cried your name
And asked the question:
Am I to blame?
Memories of fights
Internal scars
I closed my door and
Sought the comfort of music bars.
Forced to look at a picture
Just to see your face
A smoking brain and a racing heart
Pondered on how you'd left without a trace.
Many days I wondered
Many weeks I dreamed
Many months I cried your name
And asked the question:
Am I to blame?
I pray to God
To make it stop.
I'd ask him to make
The pressure drop.
I prayed that you
Were okay.
As a 5 year-old
This to the Lord I'd pray.
Many days I wondered
Many weeks I dreamed
Many months I cried your name
And asked the question:
Am I to blame?
I never stopped praying;
Never stopped pleading.
When my time with you was over-
Again my heart would start bleeding.
When we spoke over the phone
There was no doubt about it
The message in your voice was blame,
But nevertheless I found strength in my shame.
Many days I wondered
Many weeks I dreamed
Many months I cried your name
And asked the question:
Am I to blame?
And little feet
No one stopped to consider
The future they were to meet.
Feet kept moving
And hands stretched out
Out there someone cared
But this has left only doubt.
Many days I wondered
Many weeks I dreamed
Many months I cried your name
And asked the question:
Am I to blame?
Memories of fights
Internal scars
I closed my door and
Sought the comfort of music bars.
Forced to look at a picture
Just to see your face
A smoking brain and a racing heart
Pondered on how you'd left without a trace.
Many days I wondered
Many weeks I dreamed
Many months I cried your name
And asked the question:
Am I to blame?
I pray to God
To make it stop.
I'd ask him to make
The pressure drop.
I prayed that you
Were okay.
As a 5 year-old
This to the Lord I'd pray.
Many days I wondered
Many weeks I dreamed
Many months I cried your name
And asked the question:
Am I to blame?
I never stopped praying;
Never stopped pleading.
When my time with you was over-
Again my heart would start bleeding.
When we spoke over the phone
There was no doubt about it
The message in your voice was blame,
But nevertheless I found strength in my shame.
Many days I wondered
Many weeks I dreamed
Many months I cried your name
And asked the question:
Am I to blame?
"You & I" by Anonymous
It's hard for me to see sometimes
Harder to understand
It's hard for me to live sometimes
Even harder to say "I can"
You come around - renew my strength
You show me the beauty in today
You touch my heart - make it beat again
You teach me to breathe again and it's all okay.
It's hard for me to be sometimes
Harder to fake that I'm alright
It's hard for me to care sometimes
Even harder for me to try
You come around - take my hand
You show me that I can walk that extra mile
You lead me to the right path again
You teach me how to smile
It's hard for me to speak sometimes
Harder to make a sound
It's hard for me to pick myself up sometimes
Even harder to find solid ground
You come around - hold me tight
You show me how love should be
You remind me who I am again
You teach me to sing that sweet melody.
Harder to understand
It's hard for me to live sometimes
Even harder to say "I can"
You come around - renew my strength
You show me the beauty in today
You touch my heart - make it beat again
You teach me to breathe again and it's all okay.
It's hard for me to be sometimes
Harder to fake that I'm alright
It's hard for me to care sometimes
Even harder for me to try
You come around - take my hand
You show me that I can walk that extra mile
You lead me to the right path again
You teach me how to smile
It's hard for me to speak sometimes
Harder to make a sound
It's hard for me to pick myself up sometimes
Even harder to find solid ground
You come around - hold me tight
You show me how love should be
You remind me who I am again
You teach me to sing that sweet melody.
"Has P Diddy run out steam?" by Ricky Klopper
Peter de Villiers has, since his controversiall appointment as Springbok coach, never been far away from the headlines. His often perplexing way of communicating his views onrugby and life in general, has always kept the media at his fingers. Diddy supplies the press with a constant flow of "Devillierisms" which cause uproar in the press, like his famous "garage owner comparison" or his views on Schalk Burger's eye gouging. The Springboks have relinquished their Tri Nations title already and the country has almost entirely forgotten last year's results. So, the question is, should Peter de Villiers go?
The answer, in my opinion, is no. Peter de Villiers was, and remains a good "coach". I am hesitant to call him a "coach" because, is that really what he, or any other international team's "coach" is? They are in essence, the player's managers as most of the so-called "coaching" is done by backline, forward, defensive and kicking coaches. The primary role of the head coach is to select, and then get the best out of, his players. The head coach is also concerned with the essential tactics and style of a team. When questioning de Villiers' position, one should assess him on his performance in these areas, which contrary to popular belief, has been admirable.
Taking over as coach of the world champions is not easy, especially when the media and public immediately label you as a "quota" selection because of your skin colour. Corne Krige, the former Springbok captain, predicted "seven lean years" after de Villiers's appointment as coach and many other rugby "experts" questioned his ability. Peter de Villiers was unfortunately on the back foot from the start. De Villiers's selection may have been questionable, but he came into the job with a greater pedigree than his predecessor, Jake White. De Villiers had led the Under 21 Springboks to world titles and the Emerging Springboks to the Nations Cup as well as coaching various teams at Currie Cup level. While Jake White joined with a short spell as coach of the SA under 21 team being his only experience as head coach of a first-class team.
De Villiers immediately sparked controversey when he announced that he would take the team to "new heights" by adding a new attacking dimension to their game. Experts insisted that De Villiers should stay with Jake White's formula of a defence-orientated game and these opinions seemed vindicated when the Springboks' Tri Nations hopes disappeared with two games remaining. The last game of the Tri Nations, a 53 - 8 thrashing of Australia, gave the country a glimpse of de Villiers's attacking game and subsequent victories in Europe showed his ability to adopt different styles for the team when necessary.
2009 saw a change in approach from the Springboks due to law changes that had been introduced half way through 2008, which made them rely more on kicking and positional play. this approach was highly successful, with the Springboks winning the Tri Nations and the Lions Series. the Springboks had a 100 % record against New Zealand for only the second time ever, a feat that Jake white never achieved. During this time, although some recognition was given to de Villiers, there were still murmurs that the Springboks were overly reliant on Jake White's players and that de Villiers had nothing to do with their success. John Smit, and other senior Springboks, denied this and attributed the team's success to the team's morale which de Villiers was instrumental in creating.
Peter de Villiers's greatest strength is his relationship with his players. His greatest weakness, in my opinion, is his relationship with those outside the team, particularly the press. De villiers's first language is Afrikaans, and it is often clear that he finds it difficult to accurately express himself to the English press. This often leads to misinterpretation and has helped create his image as a "clown". He is a very honest speaker and can surely, even by his greatest detractors, not be accused of not admitting his own mistakes.
No one can decide whether Peter de Villiers is "the right man for the job", but I feel that he has and still is being unfairly judged by South Africans and our other Southern Hemisphere counterparts, Australia and New Zealand.
Peter de Villiers will remain in the spotlight for as long as he remains Springbok coach and I doubt the controversies will ever stop. There is no denying the man's faults, but I feel his ability to get the best out of his players gives him an edge that few other coaches have.
Only the future will tell whether I am correct.
The answer, in my opinion, is no. Peter de Villiers was, and remains a good "coach". I am hesitant to call him a "coach" because, is that really what he, or any other international team's "coach" is? They are in essence, the player's managers as most of the so-called "coaching" is done by backline, forward, defensive and kicking coaches. The primary role of the head coach is to select, and then get the best out of, his players. The head coach is also concerned with the essential tactics and style of a team. When questioning de Villiers' position, one should assess him on his performance in these areas, which contrary to popular belief, has been admirable.
Taking over as coach of the world champions is not easy, especially when the media and public immediately label you as a "quota" selection because of your skin colour. Corne Krige, the former Springbok captain, predicted "seven lean years" after de Villiers's appointment as coach and many other rugby "experts" questioned his ability. Peter de Villiers was unfortunately on the back foot from the start. De Villiers's selection may have been questionable, but he came into the job with a greater pedigree than his predecessor, Jake White. De Villiers had led the Under 21 Springboks to world titles and the Emerging Springboks to the Nations Cup as well as coaching various teams at Currie Cup level. While Jake White joined with a short spell as coach of the SA under 21 team being his only experience as head coach of a first-class team.
De Villiers immediately sparked controversey when he announced that he would take the team to "new heights" by adding a new attacking dimension to their game. Experts insisted that De Villiers should stay with Jake White's formula of a defence-orientated game and these opinions seemed vindicated when the Springboks' Tri Nations hopes disappeared with two games remaining. The last game of the Tri Nations, a 53 - 8 thrashing of Australia, gave the country a glimpse of de Villiers's attacking game and subsequent victories in Europe showed his ability to adopt different styles for the team when necessary.
2009 saw a change in approach from the Springboks due to law changes that had been introduced half way through 2008, which made them rely more on kicking and positional play. this approach was highly successful, with the Springboks winning the Tri Nations and the Lions Series. the Springboks had a 100 % record against New Zealand for only the second time ever, a feat that Jake white never achieved. During this time, although some recognition was given to de Villiers, there were still murmurs that the Springboks were overly reliant on Jake White's players and that de Villiers had nothing to do with their success. John Smit, and other senior Springboks, denied this and attributed the team's success to the team's morale which de Villiers was instrumental in creating.
Peter de Villiers's greatest strength is his relationship with his players. His greatest weakness, in my opinion, is his relationship with those outside the team, particularly the press. De villiers's first language is Afrikaans, and it is often clear that he finds it difficult to accurately express himself to the English press. This often leads to misinterpretation and has helped create his image as a "clown". He is a very honest speaker and can surely, even by his greatest detractors, not be accused of not admitting his own mistakes.
No one can decide whether Peter de Villiers is "the right man for the job", but I feel that he has and still is being unfairly judged by South Africans and our other Southern Hemisphere counterparts, Australia and New Zealand.
Peter de Villiers will remain in the spotlight for as long as he remains Springbok coach and I doubt the controversies will ever stop. There is no denying the man's faults, but I feel his ability to get the best out of his players gives him an edge that few other coaches have.
Only the future will tell whether I am correct.
"A simple mistake" by Gabriella Llennity
"It was only a simple mistake," mother would say to me each time father cheated on her. I could see she resented my father, but it would be too much of an embarrassment for mother, since her only friends were of high society. The other reason she stayed with father was because of my sister, Angela, and I. She didn't want us to come from a broken home or to see that her marriage was a failure, even though we could hear them screaming and shouting at each other every night.
We never saw father much, and when we did he was always too busy to spend time with us. Mother always tried to teach us to stand our ground against people who caused trouble for us; she did not want her babies making the same mistakes she had already made. If father ever did something wrong it was always a 'simple mistake'. If we ever did anything wrong, we were disciplined, and were taught the right way. Not like father. We were not let off as easily as father was. My mother believed in us, which I could see in her. Everything she did was usually for Angela and I. Father worked for a big important company so whenever there were suppers or evening parties, we were summoned to silence unless spoken to.
Mother was very displeased with father's work, as every few years it meant that we would have to move to another town. Father's boss had big ideas for him, so it means we simply had to obey. I do not believe mother was ever happy in her marriage. She probably only faked it when father needed her to impress his boss or his own high society friends.
If Angela or I ever became scared we could turn to mother for absolutely anything. I loved that about her. I wonder who she turns to when something bad happens to her; since grandmother and grandfather have both already passed, she does not really have many people to turn to. I do not suppose her friends would ever really care either. They are all to worried about themselves to be concerned about mother. That is what husbands are supposed to be for, I suppose, but mother was deprived of that benefit in marriage. I suppose that is what builds a person; makes them stronger. I suppose that is why mother is the way she is.
It is rather unfortunate. Mother deserves better than father, though she keeps putting up with his "dealings". As the daughter of a well established and respected man, I suppose I should have respect for him but I do not. I wonder what Angela thinks of father. Although I do not suppose she knows how to diagnose the whole situation.
I wonder why father cheats on mother so much. I wonder if he even still loves her, and why he even remains in their marriage.
When we were younger, Angela and I would be sent off to our Aunt Grace, mother's sister. From the very beginning Aunt Grace had despised father. She simply could not stand him, she knew it would never work but mother was young and in love. Mother and father sent us to aunt Grace because they said that they needed some "alone time" which did not mean together to build their relationship, what it really meant was that mother was getting tired of life and needed to go the spa and father was probably home and could not deal with us so they would send us to aunt Grace. the only reason that mother was becoming tired of life was because father's dealings were like fire to mother, and she was helpless wood. These dealings would slowly eat away at her until she turned to ash and needed some rejuvenating. they worked from the outside in, melting her down piece by piece. Mother and father's fights are the smoke of the fire, the outcome of father's 'dealings'.
Father's number one priority was his job and then his possessions. One time, when I was younger, I took some papers off father's desk and started drawing. When father discovered me decorating his documents, I tried to make the same as him, I said, "But daddy, it was only a mistake."
Well, that definitely did not work in the same way as when father said it to mother. From that day on I never took anything from his office, or anything he owned for a matter of fact, ever, ever again. I can still remember his face when he found me, enraged, full of anger he grabbed me and said, "Do not ever touch my things again Abigail. Understood?"
I could not even look into his eyes; he scared me to death that day.
I wonder why mother even married him in the first place. And if father ever really loved mother. Perhaps they were in love at first, and it just slowly faded because of father's job. It must have, because they rarely ever even hold hands or hug one another, and father always speaks to mother in a very monotonous voice. Perhaps I was a mistake, a summer romance that went wrong, and they were forced to get married, and then to make it all look real they had Angela. I wonder perhaps if my father's parents' relationship was the same, and that's where father learned all this.
Perhaps mother did not know in the beginning about father's dealings. Perhaps it only started when father stopped showing any affection to mopther, or perhpas he never did show any affection at all to mother because his life ended when mother got pregnant. Perhaps their whole marriage and Angela and mother and I were all just another big mistake.
We never saw father much, and when we did he was always too busy to spend time with us. Mother always tried to teach us to stand our ground against people who caused trouble for us; she did not want her babies making the same mistakes she had already made. If father ever did something wrong it was always a 'simple mistake'. If we ever did anything wrong, we were disciplined, and were taught the right way. Not like father. We were not let off as easily as father was. My mother believed in us, which I could see in her. Everything she did was usually for Angela and I. Father worked for a big important company so whenever there were suppers or evening parties, we were summoned to silence unless spoken to.
Mother was very displeased with father's work, as every few years it meant that we would have to move to another town. Father's boss had big ideas for him, so it means we simply had to obey. I do not believe mother was ever happy in her marriage. She probably only faked it when father needed her to impress his boss or his own high society friends.
If Angela or I ever became scared we could turn to mother for absolutely anything. I loved that about her. I wonder who she turns to when something bad happens to her; since grandmother and grandfather have both already passed, she does not really have many people to turn to. I do not suppose her friends would ever really care either. They are all to worried about themselves to be concerned about mother. That is what husbands are supposed to be for, I suppose, but mother was deprived of that benefit in marriage. I suppose that is what builds a person; makes them stronger. I suppose that is why mother is the way she is.
It is rather unfortunate. Mother deserves better than father, though she keeps putting up with his "dealings". As the daughter of a well established and respected man, I suppose I should have respect for him but I do not. I wonder what Angela thinks of father. Although I do not suppose she knows how to diagnose the whole situation.
I wonder why father cheats on mother so much. I wonder if he even still loves her, and why he even remains in their marriage.
When we were younger, Angela and I would be sent off to our Aunt Grace, mother's sister. From the very beginning Aunt Grace had despised father. She simply could not stand him, she knew it would never work but mother was young and in love. Mother and father sent us to aunt Grace because they said that they needed some "alone time" which did not mean together to build their relationship, what it really meant was that mother was getting tired of life and needed to go the spa and father was probably home and could not deal with us so they would send us to aunt Grace. the only reason that mother was becoming tired of life was because father's dealings were like fire to mother, and she was helpless wood. These dealings would slowly eat away at her until she turned to ash and needed some rejuvenating. they worked from the outside in, melting her down piece by piece. Mother and father's fights are the smoke of the fire, the outcome of father's 'dealings'.
Father's number one priority was his job and then his possessions. One time, when I was younger, I took some papers off father's desk and started drawing. When father discovered me decorating his documents, I tried to make the same as him, I said, "But daddy, it was only a mistake."
Well, that definitely did not work in the same way as when father said it to mother. From that day on I never took anything from his office, or anything he owned for a matter of fact, ever, ever again. I can still remember his face when he found me, enraged, full of anger he grabbed me and said, "Do not ever touch my things again Abigail. Understood?"
I could not even look into his eyes; he scared me to death that day.
I wonder why mother even married him in the first place. And if father ever really loved mother. Perhaps they were in love at first, and it just slowly faded because of father's job. It must have, because they rarely ever even hold hands or hug one another, and father always speaks to mother in a very monotonous voice. Perhaps I was a mistake, a summer romance that went wrong, and they were forced to get married, and then to make it all look real they had Angela. I wonder perhaps if my father's parents' relationship was the same, and that's where father learned all this.
Perhaps mother did not know in the beginning about father's dealings. Perhaps it only started when father stopped showing any affection to mopther, or perhpas he never did show any affection at all to mother because his life ended when mother got pregnant. Perhaps their whole marriage and Angela and mother and I were all just another big mistake.
PIE, anyone?
Ƿē biddaþ þē, ēalā lārēoƿ ðæt þū tǣce ūs ſprecan riȝte!
/we: bɪdaθ ðe: ɛalɑ lɑrɛɔw ðat θʊ: tæ:tʃə us sprɛkan riχt/
"we ask you, teacher, that you teach us to speak correctly!"
*
Part 1 of 5 : the English Language Series
*
In this series we explore the origin of the English language. Although it will be relatively brief, the coverage will be wide: from the most ancient form, to the most current manifestation of the English language. "PIE, anyone?" serves both as an introduction to this series, but also as an overview of English's most ancient ancestor.
When most people are asked what the history of English is, their reply can be represented as follows:
Latin → Shakespearean "Old" English → Modern English.
Some may even say:
Hebrew → Latin → Shakespearean "Old" English → Modern English.
In my experience, after offering this answer the person feels proud of their historical outline. And all those who heard agree that their English History is correct. But it is not.
I am not a linguist, but I do know enough about Historical linguistics and English to confidently tell you that it is not.
Firstly, Shakespearean is Modern English. What we speak now is álso Modern English. Old English, or Anglo-Saxon, is much older. The introductory line: "wē biddaþ þē..." is Old English. Secondly, English is not a daughter language of Latin. Thirdly, Hebrew isn't even closely related to English or Latin. Hebrew and Latin's great-great grandparents were neighbours - but that's as close as they get.
***
To describe the history of English, we need to start at the very beginning: we start with Proto-Indo-European. Proto-Indo-European (or PIE) is the "mother" of all the languages of the Indo-European Language Family.Indo-European (IE) is the largest and most widespread of all the language families. It consists of about 150 languages and has over 3 billion speakers.
IE is split into ten sub-families. Within each sub-family I will list only the most well known languages.
1) ALBANIAN
2) ANATOLIAN
All these languages are extinct. They were spoken in the Middle East and records of these languages survive from about 1600 BCE. These languages are famous for the Cuneiform writing system.
-Hittite; Luwian
3) ARMENIAN
4) BALTO-SLAVIC
-Baltic: Old Prussian; Latvian; Lithuanian
-Slavic: Ukranian; Polish; Czech-Slovak; Croatian; Serbian...
5) INDO-IRANIAN
-Iranian: Persian/Farsi; Kurdish; Pashto (yes, this language is in The Kite Runner).
-Indo-Aryan: Although many languages in this group are spoken in India, not all the languages of India are IE. Most of them are part of an unrelated language family called the Dravidian Family.
-Sanskrit; Hindi; Urdu; Bengali; Punjabi
6) TOCHARIAN
Tocharian A; Tocharian B are the only languages in this group. They were spoken in the Xinjiang region of China. Both languages are now extinct... and they had very creative names :Þ
As we get closer to Modern English, the following languages will become more and more important. These are the groups that English interacted with greatly. Some of them left undeniable influences upon English:
7) CELTIC
The Celts were the original inhabitants of France and Britain. The Romans kicked them out of France and the Saxons kicked them off England. The surviving Celtic languages are endangered and spoken by few people in Ireland, Scotland and Wales.
-Welsh; Irish; Gaelic; Cornish; Breton
8) HELLENIC
-Greek and Grecian dialects.
9) ITALIC
The Italic languages are probably the most famous langauges in the world.
-Umbrian; Oscan (both dead)
-Latin: French; Spanish; Portuguese; Italian; Romanian; Sardinian.
10) GERMANIC
English technically belongs to this Family! I deliberately put 'Anglo-Saxon', not "English" under West-Germanic. This will become apparent as the series unfolds.
-East: Visigothic; Ostrogothic; Vandal (all dead)
-North: Icelandic; Danish; Swedish; Norwegian
-West: German; Dutch; Afrikaans; Frisian; Anglo-Saxon.
Here I add some reconstructed PIE words!
Notice the bolded similarities in the PIE root and the modern word. Phonological change can only obscure so much!
*-kʷe = [and] = Latin: -que \ Old Greek: -qe \ Sanskrit: ca
*(d)kmtóm = [100] = Latin: centum \ English: hundred \ Greek: hekatón
*(h)yêro = English: year \ Dutch: jaar \ Latin: hōrnus \ Slavonic: jara \ Avestan: yārə
*(s)ker- = [cut] = English: shear \ Lithuanian: skiriù \ Greek: keírô \ Norse: skort \ Hittite: kartai- Armenian: k'erem
HERE ENDS THE DISCUSSION OF PIE
next: the Germanic Family, and English's place therein.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
"The Autopsy of Nelson Mandela" by Adam Hendricks
Many know of Nelson Mandela, fewer of his feats, and even fewer of what he did for South Africa as a nation. Nonetheless, even some of those who perceive themselves to be great thinkers have misunderstood the significance of this mortal and his influence.
Rolihlahla Mandela spent 67 years of his life fighting for the greater good of humanity. Twenty-seven of those years he spent in prison. He continues, to this day, to fight for humanity. Mandela is an international icon and an example to all true South Africans.
Yuill Damaso, however, clearly thinks otherwise. He crafted a sacrilegious painting depicting a deceased Nelson Mandela surrounded by select members of past and present parliament. This work was designed as a parody of Rembrandt's "The Anatomy Lecture of Dr. Nicholaes Tulp", but falls horribly short of the Dutch master's standards, albeit a 'work in progress'.
The work of Damaso sparked international outrage, supported by many South Africans. Damaso himself states that he does not apologise for the painting and that his message is for the government to wake up and see what life will be like without Mandela holding the nation together. As per usual, Damaso -like so many- has failed to comprehend the full consequences of his actions.
Most of this nation's population are people of colour. A large percentage of this sector of the public extol Mandela as he 'saved' them from Apartheid -when in fact he saved all South Africans because the country was on the verge of civil war nearing the end of Apartheid, and Mandela doused that flame. Therefore, many white citizens also realise that they live their peaceful lives, and most of them affluently, thanks in part to Mandela.
Furthermore, most of this country's population are uneducated and will not understand the underlying message of Damaso's work. Many of those still uneducated are people of colour who may still harbour resentment towards the previously privileged white population. All this painting accomplishes is stirring up fresh hatred between different races in our country -although, supposedly, this outcome was far from the artist's intentions.
Let us take a look at the real 'big picture': Damaso creates a controversial painting. The painting sparks an uproar in the leading governing party. The supporters of that party are therefore also infuriated. Inevitably, the blame is placed at the foot of white racism, which breeds black hatred. This self-perpetuating racism is what may again lead to a huge and irreversible rift between the white population and the people of colour in South Africa.
In conclusion, I find Damaso's work extremely disrespectful and feel that he needs to wake up and realise that the world is not always one's oyster. One day an artist just like him may be the final straw on the camel's back, because in truth we must know that our fragile society is much less robust than we idealise it to be.
Rolihlahla Mandela spent 67 years of his life fighting for the greater good of humanity. Twenty-seven of those years he spent in prison. He continues, to this day, to fight for humanity. Mandela is an international icon and an example to all true South Africans.
Yuill Damaso, however, clearly thinks otherwise. He crafted a sacrilegious painting depicting a deceased Nelson Mandela surrounded by select members of past and present parliament. This work was designed as a parody of Rembrandt's "The Anatomy Lecture of Dr. Nicholaes Tulp", but falls horribly short of the Dutch master's standards, albeit a 'work in progress'.
The work of Damaso sparked international outrage, supported by many South Africans. Damaso himself states that he does not apologise for the painting and that his message is for the government to wake up and see what life will be like without Mandela holding the nation together. As per usual, Damaso -like so many- has failed to comprehend the full consequences of his actions.
Most of this nation's population are people of colour. A large percentage of this sector of the public extol Mandela as he 'saved' them from Apartheid -when in fact he saved all South Africans because the country was on the verge of civil war nearing the end of Apartheid, and Mandela doused that flame. Therefore, many white citizens also realise that they live their peaceful lives, and most of them affluently, thanks in part to Mandela.
Furthermore, most of this country's population are uneducated and will not understand the underlying message of Damaso's work. Many of those still uneducated are people of colour who may still harbour resentment towards the previously privileged white population. All this painting accomplishes is stirring up fresh hatred between different races in our country -although, supposedly, this outcome was far from the artist's intentions.
Let us take a look at the real 'big picture': Damaso creates a controversial painting. The painting sparks an uproar in the leading governing party. The supporters of that party are therefore also infuriated. Inevitably, the blame is placed at the foot of white racism, which breeds black hatred. This self-perpetuating racism is what may again lead to a huge and irreversible rift between the white population and the people of colour in South Africa.
In conclusion, I find Damaso's work extremely disrespectful and feel that he needs to wake up and realise that the world is not always one's oyster. One day an artist just like him may be the final straw on the camel's back, because in truth we must know that our fragile society is much less robust than we idealise it to be.
"The Hair Debate" by Peter Turner
Over the past three and a half years during which I have attended this magnificent institution, I have heard many a student complain about the policies that the school has with regards to the length of boys' hair. It must be said that high school students from all over complain about many things regarding their schools, and school in general. Most of these complaints are of no real substance and are merely voiced to either make conversation or simply to climb up the popularity ladder.
This particular argument, however, has captured my attention as I think that when it comes to this subject, the majority of the school population - the students - have a strong case. However, to be taken in the least bit seriously by the people who matter, the student body has to acknowledge the opposing argument and find a way to persuade them that the students' case is strong enough to be considered over theirs'. This is why I have decided to, in as non-biased a manner as possible, look at both sides of the argument.
The school's main argument against any hair cut that does not make the wearer look like a cue ball is that it fits with our uniform. They do have a point in saying this: if you take a look at most institutions that require uniform, there are hair regulations as well. There is no deying that short hair does make us look... smart.
Another reason for the rules about hair is that the school does not want its students walking around with hair so long that it borders on unhygeinic or even disturbs learning.
Fair enough, these are two valid points; maybe there should be rules regarding hair, but are such strict ones necessary?
Yes, our short, neatly trimmed hair does go rather nicely with our uniforms. However, I'm sure that with a bit of effort we would look just as neat, if not nicer, with long hair. Many people like to express their individuality through their appearance and through how they wear their hair. I think if students were able to do this the people in our school would actually relate to each other on a more meaningful level: many students feel self-conscious and are therefore afraid to be themselves because of the way they think that everyone views them. Much of the time this fear is brought about by something as trivial as how they look. Giving people the freedom to wear their hair the way they would like to, could help them overcome this self-consciousness and give them the confidence to be themselves during school.
Looking back on Leonard's article on Chapel and how the reason for attending Chapel may just be the school's attempt to try and create a good public image, could the reasons for strict rules about hair not be for the same reason? I think that visitors to our school would appreciate sending their children to a place where they can have a general sense of belonging and be allowed to express themselves rather than seeing their children limited to routine and, let's face it, somewhat old fashioned rituals of wearing uniform and having to shave their hair before the start of every term.
In my opinion, there should be no regulation length for our hair, as long as looks neat and smart it should be allowed. Teachers should, of course, retain the authority to decide whether or not we need a haircut, but this decision should not be taken on the length of the hair alone. The rule should simply state that the students' hair should be presentable, however long they choose to grow it.
Of course I am aware that this will cause a lot of conflict as students will complain if they are told to have a haircut whereas their longer-haired friends may not have to. Yes, we would have to figure out a few ways to establish fair criteria for having to have a haircut. It would be more difficult to establish than the strict rules that we have now, but in my opinion, it would be worth it.
While this may be considered a somewhat trivial subject, it is important that all matters being aired are discussed thoroughly and that every individual is free to join in on the discussion.
This particular argument, however, has captured my attention as I think that when it comes to this subject, the majority of the school population - the students - have a strong case. However, to be taken in the least bit seriously by the people who matter, the student body has to acknowledge the opposing argument and find a way to persuade them that the students' case is strong enough to be considered over theirs'. This is why I have decided to, in as non-biased a manner as possible, look at both sides of the argument.
The school's main argument against any hair cut that does not make the wearer look like a cue ball is that it fits with our uniform. They do have a point in saying this: if you take a look at most institutions that require uniform, there are hair regulations as well. There is no deying that short hair does make us look... smart.
Another reason for the rules about hair is that the school does not want its students walking around with hair so long that it borders on unhygeinic or even disturbs learning.
Fair enough, these are two valid points; maybe there should be rules regarding hair, but are such strict ones necessary?
Yes, our short, neatly trimmed hair does go rather nicely with our uniforms. However, I'm sure that with a bit of effort we would look just as neat, if not nicer, with long hair. Many people like to express their individuality through their appearance and through how they wear their hair. I think if students were able to do this the people in our school would actually relate to each other on a more meaningful level: many students feel self-conscious and are therefore afraid to be themselves because of the way they think that everyone views them. Much of the time this fear is brought about by something as trivial as how they look. Giving people the freedom to wear their hair the way they would like to, could help them overcome this self-consciousness and give them the confidence to be themselves during school.
Looking back on Leonard's article on Chapel and how the reason for attending Chapel may just be the school's attempt to try and create a good public image, could the reasons for strict rules about hair not be for the same reason? I think that visitors to our school would appreciate sending their children to a place where they can have a general sense of belonging and be allowed to express themselves rather than seeing their children limited to routine and, let's face it, somewhat old fashioned rituals of wearing uniform and having to shave their hair before the start of every term.
In my opinion, there should be no regulation length for our hair, as long as looks neat and smart it should be allowed. Teachers should, of course, retain the authority to decide whether or not we need a haircut, but this decision should not be taken on the length of the hair alone. The rule should simply state that the students' hair should be presentable, however long they choose to grow it.
Of course I am aware that this will cause a lot of conflict as students will complain if they are told to have a haircut whereas their longer-haired friends may not have to. Yes, we would have to figure out a few ways to establish fair criteria for having to have a haircut. It would be more difficult to establish than the strict rules that we have now, but in my opinion, it would be worth it.
While this may be considered a somewhat trivial subject, it is important that all matters being aired are discussed thoroughly and that every individual is free to join in on the discussion.
"If rainbows smiled rather than frowned" by Sarah de Villiers
If rainbows smiled rather than frowned,
If balloons didn't float away,
and bubbles never popped.
If we laughed with the clowns,
and could keep our heads in the clouds.
If we skipped around barefoot,
And chased the butterflies.
If flowers blossomed all year long,
And ice-creams never melted.
If stars could twinkle for forever and a day,
And sand-castles didn't wash away.
If we freed our hearts,
And opened our minds.
If we all smiled
Rather than frowned.
If balloons didn't float away,
and bubbles never popped.
If we laughed with the clowns,
and could keep our heads in the clouds.
If we skipped around barefoot,
And chased the butterflies.
If flowers blossomed all year long,
And ice-creams never melted.
If stars could twinkle for forever and a day,
And sand-castles didn't wash away.
If we freed our hearts,
And opened our minds.
If we all smiled
Rather than frowned.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
"Painting the Town: Part 1" by H Hamilton
Today we have so many ways to express ourselves: we update our facebook status, twitter and blog. The internet lets us feel like the world is listening, but the truth is that they're probably not. We can paint a picture or write a poem, but to get any real recognition we have to follow some kind of standard regulation and hope for the best that someone will see our talent.
When artists paint the walls of the town they are not only using a canvas that society is forced to see, they are using it to say 'this is who we are and this is what we have to say.'
Please peruse the following pics of the latest graffiti to hit the streets of Cape Town and enjoy the visual stimulus.
When artists paint the walls of the town they are not only using a canvas that society is forced to see, they are using it to say 'this is who we are and this is what we have to say.'
Please peruse the following pics of the latest graffiti to hit the streets of Cape Town and enjoy the visual stimulus.
Monday, August 2, 2010
"A Shaft of Light" by A Hendricks
Silence filled the dense air. Time slowed. I felt my heartbeat in my ears. Across the room I could see nothing. Darkness. Emptiness. The likes of which no human can imagine. I had been here for so long, I reeked of it. Years of decay and neglect. Incomprehensible pain and suffering. Torment beyond recognition. Before I laughed; now I cry. Prison is horror and I its victim.
I sit in a corner. It is uncomfortable. It is my home. My life was destroyed long ago. Nothing can take away the misery. My family was my only source of joy. My children gifts from Heaven. I loved them more than life itself.
Governments, police, enforcers... I was once one of them. Now I despise them. They cause me this life. I live in solitary because of them. I lost my way, my family and my life because of them.
I am old and weak. A remnant of a lost race. I cannot walk. My hands bleed. My feet rot. My soul is dead.
I once believed in God. He used to love me. I used to pray and speak to him. He betrayed me. He allowed them to take my family. They raped my wife and slit her throat. They dismembered my children and burnt them on stakes. They broke my bones and left me to die.
As I sit, I stare into the darkness. It speaks to me. Tells me of my family: how they miss me. I cannot take it any longer. For twenty years I sat in this spot. Every night the darkness torments me. I am helpless and weak. It has developed a hold on me.
The people I killed haunt me. I see their faces. They stare at me in pity. They pity the old man waiting to die. All I wish is to be free of this place. To be free of anxiety. To be free of the torment of my mind.
As I stare into the darkness, a voice beckons me. I see a pair of familiar eyes in the darkness -a familiar nose and smile. I must be dreaming. I am not. My son speaks to me and commands me to stand. I do. He tells me it's all over. He says I am free. I am told to look up. A powerful voice speaks to me. I see a bright shaft of white light. It consumes me, yet I cannot feel it.
The light lifts a part of me I have not known for a very long time. That part leaves me. I see it rise and become lost in the light.
As the light fades I feel empty. More than ever. My soul is gone. It has been taken. I have no memory, but I do not care. I am very tired. As I close my eyes I breathe in the cold, and as I exhale, I know that that breath is my last.
I sit in a corner. It is uncomfortable. It is my home. My life was destroyed long ago. Nothing can take away the misery. My family was my only source of joy. My children gifts from Heaven. I loved them more than life itself.
Governments, police, enforcers... I was once one of them. Now I despise them. They cause me this life. I live in solitary because of them. I lost my way, my family and my life because of them.
I am old and weak. A remnant of a lost race. I cannot walk. My hands bleed. My feet rot. My soul is dead.
I once believed in God. He used to love me. I used to pray and speak to him. He betrayed me. He allowed them to take my family. They raped my wife and slit her throat. They dismembered my children and burnt them on stakes. They broke my bones and left me to die.
As I sit, I stare into the darkness. It speaks to me. Tells me of my family: how they miss me. I cannot take it any longer. For twenty years I sat in this spot. Every night the darkness torments me. I am helpless and weak. It has developed a hold on me.
The people I killed haunt me. I see their faces. They stare at me in pity. They pity the old man waiting to die. All I wish is to be free of this place. To be free of anxiety. To be free of the torment of my mind.
As I stare into the darkness, a voice beckons me. I see a pair of familiar eyes in the darkness -a familiar nose and smile. I must be dreaming. I am not. My son speaks to me and commands me to stand. I do. He tells me it's all over. He says I am free. I am told to look up. A powerful voice speaks to me. I see a bright shaft of white light. It consumes me, yet I cannot feel it.
The light lifts a part of me I have not known for a very long time. That part leaves me. I see it rise and become lost in the light.
As the light fades I feel empty. More than ever. My soul is gone. It has been taken. I have no memory, but I do not care. I am very tired. As I close my eyes I breathe in the cold, and as I exhale, I know that that breath is my last.
"We are alive because..." by N Dekker
What makes us alive? Is it the chemical composition of our body, and the pumping of our hearts? Or is it something more? Is there a reason that we are alive, a special purpose; different for each individual? Many have tried to answer these questions and the mere question of why we are alive fascinates many. We are alive because... any ideas? In fact, how do we even know we are alive if we were never dead?
What makes us aware of the things around us? What makes us ask these questions and then try, painstakingly, to answer them? We learn in school that we have a heart and that the heart pumping blood and oxygen through our bodies keeps us alive. Only what does it mean to be alive? A more complicated metaphysical theory tries to answer this question. It states that everything is alive. All things are made up of energy and our senses interpret this energy. Science says that for something to be alive it has to have movement, be able to grow and reproduce. Specifically, it has to move by itself.
Another definition is somewhat narrow-minded; it states that only beings who can realise that they exist, are alive. This definition manages to exclude bacteria, plants and animals as we don't know if they realise that they exist, yet we know that they are alive. So this definition makes little sense. All these various definitons tell us that yes, we are alive. But why are we alive? That is something scientists have not yet been able to agree upon.
Are we alive because we want to be? Surely, to give up the will to live is to stop living. If this is the case, what makes you want to live? Your family, your friends, your hobbies, your passions... what? Harold Thurman, a philospher, said, "Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs, is people who have come alive."
What makes you feel alive? Pain, happiness, love, joy... all these feelings make us feel alive. If they make us feel alive, does the ability to feel them make us alive? The word alive is defined as having life. The word life is defined as the condition that distinguishes organisms from inorganic objects and dead organisms, being manifested by growth through metabolism, reproduction and the power of adaptation to environment through changes originating internally. Whatever that means, it explains a lot and leaves even more questions unanswered.
The idea of there being a purpose to life and a reason for our existence past biological reasoning is not a new one. I believe that everything happens for a reaon, both the good and the bad. If I believe this then it's not dificult to believe that there is a reason that we are alive. Richard Bach said, "Here is a test to find whether your mission on earth is finished; if you're alive, it isn't."
Do the questions actually matter? Dr. Seuss said, "Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple." Is this the case with the question of why we are alive? Are we making things seem more complicated than they really are? Maybe, maybe some day somebody will find the answers, but it's so much fun trying to figure them out. Imagine if there was just one solid answer to this question... so many hours of wondering about it would be spared! What would people do with all that spare time? Maybe, maybe it's better not knowing and asking these questions again and again, as the way that you choose to answer them is the only answer that really matters.
Morrie Schwartz said, "So many people walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half asleep, even when they're busy doing things they think are important. This is because they're chasing the wrong things. The way you get meaning in your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning."
What makes us aware of the things around us? What makes us ask these questions and then try, painstakingly, to answer them? We learn in school that we have a heart and that the heart pumping blood and oxygen through our bodies keeps us alive. Only what does it mean to be alive? A more complicated metaphysical theory tries to answer this question. It states that everything is alive. All things are made up of energy and our senses interpret this energy. Science says that for something to be alive it has to have movement, be able to grow and reproduce. Specifically, it has to move by itself.
Another definition is somewhat narrow-minded; it states that only beings who can realise that they exist, are alive. This definition manages to exclude bacteria, plants and animals as we don't know if they realise that they exist, yet we know that they are alive. So this definition makes little sense. All these various definitons tell us that yes, we are alive. But why are we alive? That is something scientists have not yet been able to agree upon.
Are we alive because we want to be? Surely, to give up the will to live is to stop living. If this is the case, what makes you want to live? Your family, your friends, your hobbies, your passions... what? Harold Thurman, a philospher, said, "Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs, is people who have come alive."
What makes you feel alive? Pain, happiness, love, joy... all these feelings make us feel alive. If they make us feel alive, does the ability to feel them make us alive? The word alive is defined as having life. The word life is defined as the condition that distinguishes organisms from inorganic objects and dead organisms, being manifested by growth through metabolism, reproduction and the power of adaptation to environment through changes originating internally. Whatever that means, it explains a lot and leaves even more questions unanswered.
The idea of there being a purpose to life and a reason for our existence past biological reasoning is not a new one. I believe that everything happens for a reaon, both the good and the bad. If I believe this then it's not dificult to believe that there is a reason that we are alive. Richard Bach said, "Here is a test to find whether your mission on earth is finished; if you're alive, it isn't."
Do the questions actually matter? Dr. Seuss said, "Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple." Is this the case with the question of why we are alive? Are we making things seem more complicated than they really are? Maybe, maybe some day somebody will find the answers, but it's so much fun trying to figure them out. Imagine if there was just one solid answer to this question... so many hours of wondering about it would be spared! What would people do with all that spare time? Maybe, maybe it's better not knowing and asking these questions again and again, as the way that you choose to answer them is the only answer that really matters.
Morrie Schwartz said, "So many people walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half asleep, even when they're busy doing things they think are important. This is because they're chasing the wrong things. The way you get meaning in your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning."
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